


Misplaced Loyalty

by Mo2593



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Action/Adventure, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2020-09-26 20:13:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20395483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mo2593/pseuds/Mo2593
Summary: Having been trained by some of the finest shield-maidens to ever cross the North Sea, Aud has never questioned her ability to fight and to win. When she becomes a hostage of the Dane-slayer Uhtred Ragnarson, the question becomes who, and what, to fight for.





	1. Chapter 1

Her screams woke me instantly.

“Raiders!” She shrieked, “Raiders!” Her high voice pierced through the rain from the other side of our camp.

My left hand gripped the knife that lived under my furs as I slept; my right reached down to rouse Dagfinn from the ground where I had made him sleep. The shouts of men sounded off from all sides of my tent as I pulled out my axes. The downpour soaked me as soon as I left my tent and the mud pulled at the muscles in my legs. Unbraided, my long hair clung to my forehead and channeled rain into my eyes. I pulled it away. These pigs-headed raiders had the worst timing.

Arriving at the center of camp, huffing, I saw men gathered in front of my father’s tent. My father was on his knees, a knife to his throat. Three men I did not know stood behind him. It seemed the fight was over before it had really begun. Still I pushed to the front to find my uncle soaked to the bone with his arms outstretched, a girl laying out cold at his feet.

“Hold!” He shouted.

The spindly-looking man shouted his demands, “You will take one ship and you will leave Northumbria. One ship! I have taken your brother’s sword hand and I will take his son as a hostage to ensure it.”

My father’s humor apparently did not reside in his sword hand, because he released a maniacal laugh, “Do it!” 

“Do not waste my time- bring him here,” The man barked, bringing his blade deeper into my father’s throat. A name surfaced from memory to match the man’s face- Uhtred Ragnarson. The man who killed Ubbe. His death, or lack thereof, had halted the effort to take Dunholm after the brothers lost Eofowic. I remembered his bloodthirsty uncle, who was so intent on seeing Uhtred’s head on a pike. The last thing any trader had told was the Dane slayer was on a slave ship and certain to die at sea, “It is your choice Sigefrid!"

My father laughed harder. Even in the gray light of dawn, a thin line of red could be seen sliding down his dirty throat.

“That son is dead.” Erik finally said, causing me to flinch. He looked to me, but I did not understand what his eyes were saying before he continued, “For my brother’s life Uhtred, I can only offer Sigefrid’s daughter in his stead.”

My mouth fell open a bit as Erik raised his arm toward me in indication. His face was set as stone and he would no longer meet my gaze. I turned with narrowed eyes to Uhtred.

He rolled his eyes, and I briefly wondered if any part of this had gone to plan for him.

“It is done. Girl, go fetch your father’s hand.” He nodded toward the tent.

Erik hurled himself forward to Sigefrid’s side, taking hold of the arm without a hand. I held my shoulders straight and walked reluctantly across the muddy circle, pausing only long enough to hear my father vow to kill Uhtred. I knew he was not vowing such a thing on my account, my place within his family had been precarious at best since my brother had died. My father thought it was bad luck to have only one twin around. Knowing that the brothers had handed over an utterly inadequate hostage, I headed into the tent.

Once inside I threw some blankets around looking for the hand, turning in circles. It was on floor, still bleeding, and a small bit of white bone sticking out. Needing a sack or something to carry it in, I turned, and came face to face with Borghild- the shield maiden who had raised me. She must have snuck in the back of the tent. All at once I wanted to thrash and wail like a small child, but she did not give me the time. She pushed the strap of my sleeping furs over my shoulder, I already had my axes. 

She whispered, “Do not let them touch you. Do not let them humiliate you- become useful. Your path is no longer with the brothers, but you will listen to the Gods and let them guide you forward.”

“Where will you go?” I whispered.

“I do not know, if the Gods are willing then I will see you again.”

“Do what you can for Bjorn,” I asked, knowing that some promises could not be kept.

Borghild nodded, pulling my head down and putting her lips to my forehead. Then she left. I found a piece of cloth to wrap my father’s sword hand, and I went outside.

Immediately, Uhtred grabbed me by the shoulder and pushed me into the woods nearest the tent where the rain only slightly relented. The other two men followed with their swords and eyes scanning the trees behind us as we walked. My face stayed blank, but deep in my gut a heavy weight was forming. I was tall like my Uncle and with his broad shoulders, but well under 2 stone of any other man in the army. My whole life was spent under the protection of the shield-maidens that followed Sigefrid; without them, an acute vulnerability overcame me. I had kills to my name to be sure, but I owed those kills as much to my skill as the women who shielded my back while I made them.

In a hovel about a half mile away we met up with the rest of Uhtred’s group. My shoulders relaxed only a little when I noticed there were two other women in the group of seven. Uhtred released my shoulder and pointed to a blonde woman in good chain mail.

“You will stay by Hild’s side until I say otherwise. If you do not, she will kill you.”

The severe-looking blonde held out a hand, “Your weapons.”

I shifted my weight around, but lifted my axes from my belt and handed them over, along with my seax. She pulled a strap of hide from her mail and bound my wrists together. There was a small comfort in knowing I still had knives in both boots. 

The group mounted up, and Hild helped me onto the back of her saddle by my bound hands. We took off east, and I could only guess we headed toward the city of Eoferwic, the only real city between here and the sea. For what reason I could only wait to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

I had not been to Eoferwic in years, but the last time I rode in with the victors rather than the captured. Uhtred’s group dismounted their horses outside the alehouse. In a hurry, Hild untied my hands and rebound them tightly to the hitching post. Then the group stormed up the stairs of the great hall and busted through the doors with all the thunderous noise of an army. 

In the silence following their departure, I had a look around the square. Little had changed in the years since the brother's had occupied the city. The walls still stood strong and the people maintained the same cold stare. The few Northmen left were traders- who would never stay away if money could be made. A pair of them in heavy boots and long coats eyed me from a stone’s through away, considering whether they could steal me to sell as a slave before whoever I belonged to came back. I glared, and tipped my head toward the great hall. 

Just then a rock hit the back of my head. I turned to see a small child was searching the ground for another, and an older one just stood and glared. His hair was dirty and long.

“My parents were killed by Danes.” He said. 

I rolled my eyes, I wasn't even a Dane. Although, I had killed more villagers around here than I cared to remember.

“You had best leave, before the same fate befalls you,” I told him.

He did not, he joined his brother in collecting stones and he threw them with much more force than his brother did.

Uhtred’s small envoy stormed out of the great hall, making me jump and the children scatter. They hastened to the ale house, and grabbed both available tables. I leaned on the hitching post, taking the weight off my left side. I could overhear the men talking, but I could not tell what the result of the meeting had been; Uhtred sulked all night and while his brother Ragnar rejoiced. Ragnar drank as if they had won something, but the more I learned of him, that may not have been unusual. Six pitchers of ale were drained and the sun had set, all while I still stood next to the post, resting my head on my hands. The men grew louder and I could hear their tales grow more and more ridiculous.

“Girl, come here,” Ragnar called, motioning me forward with two fingers. I could not even hold my hands up to show him I was bound. I looked to Hild, she rolled her eyes, Ragnar continued, "Is it true your father is a berserker?”

“What in Jesus’s name is a berserker?” An Irishman asked from another table.

Ragnar looked as though he expected me to answer. Hild had gotten up reluctantly and untied me.

I stepped forward, “A warrior who becomes more beast than human in battle. Berserkers lose their minds and take on the strength of ten men. They cannot feel their wounds, they will kill anyone they see, and will not stop until their bodies give out.” I looked at Ragnar, “Yes, Sigefrid is a berserker. He wears a bear’s skin into battle and sleeps for three days or more once it is finished.”

“Christ” breathed the Irishman.

“And you, are you more beast than human in battle as well?” Ragnar leaned forward. His woman, Brida I heard her called, looked on with shrewd eyes.

“I have to be fierce; my opponents are all larger than me.”

The response elicited a powerful chuckle from him, “Indeed you do. Will you fight with us at Dunholm?”

Uhtred spoke up, “She will not, what good is a dead hostage to me?”

“Oh let her fight Uhtred, shield maidens are few and far between these days. I have not fought alongside one since Irland.”

His woman put the full force of her fist into his rib cage, at which he only smiled.

“You are the commander of my armies Brida, not a simple shield maiden,” he said, putting his arm around her and pulling her into a kiss. I looked away until it ended. Young Ragnar turned back to Uhtred, “Let her fight, I will keep an eye on her.”

“Fine, give me peace.” Uhtred said, distracted by the arrival of the King. He lifted his weary body from the table and went to meet him.

Ragnar handed me a mug of ale and gave me a wink, “We will see if we need to get you a bear skin.”

-

We arrived at Dunholm late the next night. The anticipation of battle bubbled in my veins for hours and by the time light broke over the horizon I had fought the battle a dozen times in my mind. Before we had parted ways, Hild had grudgingly given me my axes and seax back. I stayed by Ragnar’s side and under the watchful eye of Brida.

As dawn neared, Ragnar turned to us and in a low voice he said, “The Gods will look favorably on anyone who falls avenging Ragnar the Fearless. You will not see these cowards in Valhalla, who sit on their asses, in their stolen fortress. Let us bring the cold fear of Niflheim into these bastard’s hearts.”

The men formed ranks as naturally as waves form in the sea. I was next to Ragnar on the battering ram; there to protect it and its carriers. We marched across the field like a ship with full sails. I heard the faint shouts of the guards as they recognized the attack and almost immediately felt the strike of arrows on my shield. The first hit of the ram was a good one, the second hit even better. By the third hit spears had begun to crack against our shields and maintaining a tight cover was becoming difficult. I put both arms up against my shield to stabilize it, but still their spears made opportunities of our openings and men began to fall.

Before the man in front of me could hit the ground, I reached out an arm to take his shield- he would not need it half as much as me now. For my hubris, the guards above sent an arrow through the skin of my elbow. I hissed in pain and brought the other shield up to cover a gap above Ragnar, in time for them to send fire and embers down on our heads.  
Next to me Ragnar bellowed his commands, “Steady! Now- forward!”

The ram continued to hit with a rhythmic, deep thud. The arrows shot by stronger men penetrated my shield and I could feel their tips in my arms. I grew blood thirsty and ached to return the favor. I focused on that as the attack drew itself out.

By the Gods, there was finally a shout from the other side of the gate for Ragnar to halt. The gate swung open and the battering ram dropped. We rushed the fortress, with more of Brida’s men reinforcing us. Axes in hand, I swung fast and deep at Dunholm’s warriors. The swings that connected with shields rung painfully in my hands, but the ones that connected with flesh made up for it. Opponents came on rapidly and in only flashes, I aimed my blows at legs or the occasional unshielded arm or torso. The rip in my arm burned, but so did all of my muscles. The only break in the fighting for me was when I sunk both axes into a short man’s chest, I had to pause and kick my foot into his chest a couple of times to leverage them back out.

The din of weapons and shields gradually receded and I heard Uhtred bark out, “Shield! Wall!” I pulled into position next to him, looking down the line for Ragnar, whose face was almost unrecognizable from the blood on it. Together, we pushed Kjartan’s men into a corner.

“Kjartan, you are beaten,” Ragnar jeered, “Either you die alone, or with all you men. Which is it to be?”

And so, they made the square. Amid an uproar that I’ve never again heard the likes of, Ragnar beat Kjartan down to the ground and pierced his long sword through the warlord’s chest while making one of the worst, guttural screams ever heard on the battlefield. But he did not stop, he continued to slash at Kjartan’s face and body, taking out his knife and plunging it into his chest again and again. The summer air was stifling inside the fortress, where no breeze could move smell of blood and shit. But that was not the reason every warrior held his breath.

I did not wait to see how it ended, I turned on my heel and walked back out the gates of Dunholm.


	3. Chapter 3

It was unseasonably warm at Dunholm that spring, and the sun shone down on the gentle hills without interruption as far as I could see. Pausing for a moment in the fresh air outside the fortress, I breathed deep and forced down the exhilaration. Slowly my fingers stopped tingling and the muscles in my legs became less taut. Sweat rolled off me, leaving streaks in the dirt and blood on my arms.

The spring that Uhtred’s group had used for entry was supposed to be on the east side of the fortress, and I followed the great walls until I found it. It was a great relief to let the icy water clean out the sizable cut on my arm. Although the lower lip of the cut hung open and I could see white sinew, the arrow had run straight through in a clean line. I felt it was a good sign that the arrow missed the Helm of Awe tattooed on the inside of my arm, it would heal if I could hold off infection. Then I decided to take advantage and shed my leather armor and short tunic, putting most of my upper body under the spring and let goosebumps replace the dirt on my skin.

With my head under running water I had not heard the footsteps approach nor the unsheathing of sword from scabbard, but when I opened my eyes there was the big man from Uhtred’s envoy standing above the spring, looking down at me.

“You Danes are an odd lot. What hostage chooses to wash when you could have run?” His eyes took their time raking over my body, even though there was nothing to cover. I always kept my chest bound tight with cloth.

“I have no intention of breaking the agreement,” I lied. I put a hand on my seax.

He moved to climb down to the spring and my heart began to thump in my chest. I was armed but he was a big man. I knew I was lucky to have so far avoided the type of violence that most women endured, and now the threat of it made my blood run cold. I backed away slowly, carefully side stepping fallen bodies. He saw my reaction and put away his sword. 

“I have no interest in Danish women, and you hardly even look like one.”

He moved to put his head under the water and my chest loosened. An unlucky woman lay near the access door with a cut across her neck. Her apron looked freshly washed so I tore strips from it and bound my arm tight before redressing.

“What do they call you?” I asked the big man as we climbed out of the pit where the spring was and headed toward the gates.

“I am Steapa, I serve King Alfred.”

“Does Uhtred serve Alfred as well?”

“He does, reluctantly.”

“Is that why he did not hand me over to Guthred? Will he hand me over to Alfred instead?” I asked, ready to have some answers.

“I do not feign to know what Uhtred is thinking, but I know Alfred did not request hostages.”

Then Steapa came upon a dead man inside the gate and began stripping the man of his weapons. I paired with Steapa to move bodies out of the fortress and strip them of anything valuable. This was the first battle I had seen in over a year, and I was grateful to Ragnar for the chance to fight real warriors. That night we feasted and slept with full bellies in the great hall of Dunholm.

-

The next day we said our goodbyes. Those of us not still exhausted by battle, were hungover from the festivities as we saddled horses and gathered our things. Ragnar was predictably unaffected; saying animated goodbyes in an otherwise quiet morning.  
He greeted me with a clap on the back, “I do not think we need to get you need a bear skin Aud, though you were fierce in battle you are still awake these days after!” he joked.

I laughed, “No, but I think if we see each other again I may bring you one.”

Ragnar laughed too, a powerful guffaw, and bid me safe travels. 

The glow of battle followed me as the group headed south to Winchester. Even with my hands bound together again, a cautious optimism over took me, and I was not as bothered as a hostage should have been. 

Hild had the reins of my horse’s bridle so I let my eyes and ears wander across the countryside- not paying attention to much except the pull of the sun over the sky. At night, Hild would tie my foot to hers with a tight knot and any one of my movements would cause her eyes to flick open. Every day the land became greener and the hills less imposing until the group arrived at Winchester ten days later.

-

I did not think Winchester was so grand. It was busy, but its Roman walls were crumbling and the streets lay haphazardly in all directions. Most of the battle-worn guard went off into that maze to find an alehouse and it was only Uhtred, Steapa, and I that bounded up the steps of the palace. I watched the men hand over their weapons to the guard, then we were led across a courtyard full of plants I had never seen before and into a large empty room. Alfred was waiting for us there.

“Lord,” Uhtred began, though his voice dripped with distain, “the brothers Sigefrid and Eric have left England. They sail to Frankia- I have men who will confirm it.”

“My own spies have said the same, though you should have taken their heads not merely a hand Uhtred.”

“Uhtred would not have made it out alive.” I muttered; this King was not as clever as they said.

“Who is this? A hostage?” Alfred asked, an eyebrow raised.

“A hostage and bait Lord. She is the daughter of Sigefrid. If the brother’s attempt to return to England or their men gather under new leadership, I believe they will try to bring her into their plans. I would like to keep her close so we will be the first to know.”

“What is she to their plans?” Alfred said looking at me without blinking.

“She is a shield maiden; you will have heard that North women also serve as soldiers.”

“Like your Brida, and I thought she was a singular case. It would seem there are no bounds to the North’s barbarism.”

I bared my teeth and growled at him; one canine tooth shone silver where I had it inlaid.

“Charming,” He said, turning back to his throne, “Tell me girl, do you command men in your father’s army?”

“Scouting and raiding parties,” I said.

“Steapa keep an eye on the girl while I speak with Uhtred.”

Steapa wrapped a big hand around my injured elbow and I hissed at the harsh sting that shot through my arm. I struggled to shake free of his grasp while we walked out of the palace. The big man did not even break stride as he led me down the narrow streets of Winchester. We stopped outside an alehouse, always an alehouse. Steapa dropped my arm and gestured that I should go forward. Inside was the ragtag group of Uhtred’s men.

The old priest, Beocca, slid Steapa and I cups of ale as we sat down and asked, “Uhtred is back in Alfred’s favor then?”

Steapa heaved a big sigh and emptied most of his cup before answering, “I would not say as much, but Uhtred’s head is still connected to his shoulders.”

“Is he to be made an alderman?” The priest pressed, I had begun to wonder who this Saxon priest was to Uhtred, a Northman and a pagan. I sipped very slowly on the ale.  
“In time. For now, he is to be given land that is as far from here as Wessex will go.”

“Is that the end of the fighting?” The boy they called Sihtric asked.

The tired Irishman had been silent all this time and engrossed in a staring contest with his ale. At Sihtric’s question he looked up, “Rest easy, as long as there are kings there will be war.”

-

After another round, Steapa took me back to the palace. He led me to the prison and locked me in a piss-coated cell. I found a cleaner corner and curled into the smallest shape I could. In the pitch black, I traced the small bear heads on each side of my silver armband with my thumbs and listened to the other prisoners snore and grunt in their sleep. I considered my options.

It was impossible to know if Sigefrid and Erik would ever return to these shores. It was told that Frankia was well defended and the fighting was brutal, but if the brothers found wealth and glory then they would have no need to return. I could stay, and with knowledge of Alfred and Uhtred become of use to my father if he decided to return to England. Or I could escape, and join the army on new shores. Though, if other ships could not be found or the men simply heard of a better campaign elsewhere, then the brothers’ ship would land on those shores alone.

Admittedly, it seemed farther away than it had ever been- but I still dreamed of commanding armies, and of speaking to my father without him spitting anger at me. I imagined these things as I fell into sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

I awoke the next morning to the cell door opening, and a guard pulling me out by my hair. I stumbled along the open corridor, a little blind in the morning light, until the guard unceremoniously pushed me through an open doorway. I crashed into the stone floor.

My curses caught in my throat when I looked up and saw the King sat down to breakfast. He made a small gesture to the seat across from his young son and daughter, I picked myself up off the floor and settled myself in the spot with the little pride I had left.

“I assume you have a name,” His wife with the pinched faced said. I briefly wondered how often she had to bear the company of Northmen at her table.

“Eye-you-d” I emphasized the syllables, having heard the way Saxon accents butchered my name.

“And what does a name like that mean?” Alfred asked.

“It means prosperity and good fortune.” 

The wife choked down a chuckle at this, “It is more akin to ‘property’ in our language.”

It was my turn to scowl.

“How did you get those marks on your skin?” The boy blurted out, shirking back in to his chair after his moment of bravery.

“It is ink, beaten into the skin with a needle.” I said, miming the careful, repetitive action of tapping the needle. In addition to the marks on the insides of both arms, three lines stretched from the point of my chin to the bottom of my chest bone. My brothers had the same one. Both the boy and the girl looked horrified. 

“Why?” His sister asked, almost defiantly. She was my age, maybe a year or two older by the way she held herself.

“Because I am not afraid of pain, nor am I afraid of death. The gods know it and when my enemies see me, they will know.”

I turned to Alfred, “What if what if the brothers return and I tell them what I’ve learned of you?”

“It seems more likely that you will not escape,” Alfred turned to his children, “and that my children, when they rule, will continue to do battle with Danes just as I have. They should know their enemy.” 

“Then let them read your chronicles Lord,” his wife huffed.

“Oh my dear,” Alfred reached a hand out and placed it over his wife’s on the table, “I do not believe their faith can be shaken simply by sitting at the same table as a Dane.”

I rolled my eyes, “I am not Danish, I’m Norse” I said, “and Scots.”

Alfred was the only one at the table interested in that. He put down his spoon and clasped both hands under his chin, “What do you perceive to be the difference?”

“Danes are traders, they’ll fight for anything with a shine to it. But the reward will always mean more to them than the fight.”

“But Norsemen?”

“We are real fighters,” I said, “We’ll go to war over anything if there is glory to be had. We fight for each other, for the chance at Valhalla, for those who are already feasting with Odin.”

“Interesting, you seem so proud of that.”

His words subdued my childish pride. Had he really not known the difference? Had I just told him something he could use against the brothers?

I scowled and returned my attention to my food, wondering if it was the scuttling priests that demanded Alfred give up the pleasure of decent food. I was not required to speak for the rest of the meal.

-

I saw the boy Sihtric recoil from my smell when a palace guard left me with him outside the palace later that morning. 

“Rough night?” He mumbled; his eyes were small like the ale had gotten the better of him last night.

“A bit- you?” I replied as we walked along the streets.

He ignored the question. We skirted around a mean-looking pack of mules.

“Are we to stay in Winchester? It’s a bit crowded for my taste.” I asked with a smile, a genuine smile. I liked Sihtric, I thought we had quite a bit in common.

Still he ignored my question. 

“Come now, we aren’t enemies. We drank together at Dunholm.”

“That does not make us friends.”

“I mean your Lord no harm,” I pressed. Sihtric rolled his eyes.

“Will you swear an oath to him?” He challenged. 

I was so stunned I almost tripped over a bucket, “I cannot, I’m sworn to Sigefrid.”

“Then I think we are still enemies.”

The unfriendly silence that followed was beginning to feel familiar. We continued to weave through the streets of Winchester until arriving at a house with a parade of horses out front. Hild and Finan leaned against the wall of the house and watched the city life go by, Sihtric and I joined them. The sun began to beat down as midday approached. 

“Oi- how much for a hump, woman?”

I looked up, though I was sure that the proposition wasn’t for me- in leather armor and surrounded by soldiers. But sure enough, a grizzled man with a pot belly stood across the street and stared lewdly.

I laughed, “Are you blind old man?”

“Be assured Lass, ye can ply yer trade anywhere. Ye do not need follow the army.”

I looked at the others; Hild was uninterested, Finan shifted with agitation, Sihtric looked amused. 

“You actually think me a whore?” I pushed off the wall, no one moved to stop me, and I took a few steps toward him, smiling.

“Aye, by the looks of it a good one,” the old man said.

I thanked the Gods for a dry spring and dug my toe into the dirt of the street, kicking up my foot and a haze of dust with it. I struck his ear with the heel of my hand while he coughed. Taking a step back, I landed a kick in the fat man’s belly. There wasn’t much sport to it, it was a large target and it felled him like a tree. His breath gone, I picked my knife out of my boot and straddled his mountainous frame, putting the knife to his throat.

“How much will you pay to keep your throat intact?” I asked.

The man fumbled for his purse and handed it to me. I smiled as I accepted it, the day was turning around.

Then I felt arms wrap around my neck and underneath my arms, pulling me off the man, “Son of a-”

I was thrown hard on my back and hands grabbed the knife and coin purse from my grasp. When my eyes refocused, I saw Finan staring down at me. He looked put out.

“Christ I should have known you would take it too far,” He said, then he threw the coins back to the fat man, who scrambled to his feet and took off.

“I would have split the purse with you,” I grumbled, getting to my feet. My mood soured when Finan pocketed my knife.

“You are a hostage, you don’t get silver or weapons.”

Finan swung a leg over his horse and heading down the street. Sihtric rode up, leading my horse. He rolled his eyes, but a smile pulled at his cheeks as he tossed me the reins.


	5. Chapter 5

We headed east toward the Mercian border to a town cradled in a fork of the Thames called Coccham. The group was smaller and we rode fast, arriving after the sun had set on the second day. There was little celebration, we stumbled off our horses exhausted.

“Rest well tonight; tomorrow work begins on the hall and the garrison,” was all that Uhtred said before taking Gisela’s hand and following one of the merchants to his house for the night.

Sihtric piped up, “What of the hostage lord?”

“Tie her up in a barn, then go find yourself somewhere to sleep.” Uhtred said without turning around.

-

I didn’t sleep alone that night, nor any night that summer it turned out.

The garrison’s numbers grew three times its original size within a week of the night we rode in. Even with Uhtred’s prolonged absence, there were Danes, Norse, Saxons, and Mercians who wanted to fight for the man who killed Ubbe.

Sihtric slept along with the other young men in the biggest livestock barn, and as I had become Sihtric’s problem- I slept wherever he did, usually tied to him by the ankle. It was a sweaty and sleepless summer, but we had the joy of work needing to be done.

Many of the men worked in the forest, felling large trees for construction, but with an arm still in rough shape I could not swing axes with them. Instead I ran mule teams with an old village man, Higg, and I helped Gisela feed the teams of men. As a pagan in a Christian village, she had no luck in finding anyone else to help. Or anyone else to talk to.

“I remember your brother,” Gisela said to me one morning, both of us elbow deep in bread dough. It was just after breakfast but already heat was building in the cramped house and sweat glistened on Gisela’s forehead as she dipped in and out of the light from the tiny window. I suspected she was pregnant by now.

“You met him? When?” I still felt the loss of him like a weight tied to my leg. It made me tired, unbalanced, and often it made me angry, but today I surprised myself at how eager I was to hear about him.

“I only saw him, at the meeting between your father and my brother those few years ago. I remember the both of you there,” Gisela paused her work, “You made a very striking pair, so tall with that long dark hair.”

I smiled at that; it had stroked my father’s ego to have such beautiful children. And moreover, we had been intimidating, I was almost not surprised Gisela remembered us. When Atti was alive, I would pull a wide streak of black kohl across my left eye and temple, and Atti would do the same to his right eye. When we stood together we looked like a single, astral being. We'd been very vain back then.

After a few moments of my silence Gisela switched tones, “Do you not remember me there?”

I smiled and leaned back from my work, pushing sweaty strands of hair off my face. "Of course, I remember being horrified that my father proposed to you."

"He was not the first," she said, unbothered, "was he already married to your mother?"

I passed a cup of water Gisela and then filled one for myself, "Gods no, our mother was a slave."

"She has passed then?"

"I don't know, she left when we were still small," I said, and watched Gisela's expression fall. I looked away and changed the subject, "Did you know your mother?"

"No, she died giving birth to me," she poured what remained of her cup down the back of her neck, sighing, “From what I've heard of her, I think I would have liked her."

I nodded slowly, and hummed an empathetic response. Talking about mothers was a tricky business, and rarely would it end in anything but heartbreak. One question was nagging me though.

"Are you scared? Of childbirth?"

"You must be well acquainted with pregnancy to recognize it this early," Gisela said, easily avoiding the question.

"Mostly for the purpose of ending them," I admitted, "The women I grew up with fear childbirth far more than the shield wall."

Gisela leaned onto her forearms, and stared out the window. "I suppose they were right to, but I've decided the risk is worth meeting mine and Uhtred's child."

"I think you braver than most."

At this Gisela smiled slightly, "Women give birth every day; my mother did it, her mother did it." she paused, still considering, "In some ways I want the chance to prove myself to them. Is that ridiculous?"

"No, it makes perfect sense, even to me." I said.

I returned to my work, feeling a familiar fear knock at the edge of my mind.

\- 

Gisela and I were sitting in the grass near the communal ovens, slowly chewing on fresh bread and cheese when Sihtric found us that evening. 

“Lady Gisela,” He greeted her with a nod and me with the same, “Aud, I’m to make sure you get back without trouble.”

“We have one batch left in the ovens, shouldn’t be long now.” Gisela told him, offering fresh bread. He accepted it and stretched out in the grass next to me. As two people who were physically tied together quite often, we had made slow and inevitable progress toward friendship.

“Uhtred received word today that Coccham is to become one of Alfred’s burhs," he said.

“A burh?” I asked, not recognizing the Saxon word.

“Like a fortress, but smaller. They’re meant to shelter and dispatch troops in lesser numbers. It eases the burden of supplying an army on long deployments if they can be summoned from the surrounding areas.”

Sihtric was clearly impressed, and excited to have been allowed to listen in on the conversation at all. No doubt he fantasized of devising equally cunning strategies and barking orders at his own oathmen someday.

Truth be told I would have been impressed too, but I was preoccupied with a nagging feeling that my accidental imprisonment was about to become much more permanent.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEADS UP - Chapters 4 and 5 got a major overhaul roughly the end of March, if you started this story before then it's probably worth reading those chapters again. Thanks!

The days stayed long and the water in the river stayed warm, the only thing that marked the passage of time was the scar on my arm, which grew smaller, and the burh wall, which grew larger. Uhtred, because he was clever, built the walls facing the river and the forest first, so that any unlikely attack would come from the open fields west of town. More and more I was running mules with Higg, as the demand for lumber grew by the day.

One day the mules and I were following the trail through the site of an old charcoal pit, where the earth rose high on either side of the road and more light than ever filtered into the forest from the thinned trees. Under the jingle of the mules' harness I heard the low tumble of rocks. I looked up just in time to stop the mules from colliding with the pumpkin-sized boulders that fell into the road. They hit with such force that they broke into pieces, sending bits toward the mules who reared and shrieked their displeasure. 

I stood at the end of the lead, a hand over my own fast beating heart. Wearily, I watched their flailing hooves and eyed the ledge where the rocks came from. It was no small animal that dislodged rocks of that size, but I didn’t see so much as a blade of grass move. The mules did not calm themselves and thankfully the harness was loaded with logs or else they might have taken off. 

“Easy you- easy! It’s a rock not a wolf; you must quiet,” I said to them, bringing their attention back to me.

I came around the front and stepped forward on the trail, they made no effort to move with me. I tugged at the lead and they answered by attempting to maul my legs with their hooves.

“Rotten animals,” I said under my breath.

I moved back around them, slapping at their rumps and yelling every obscenity I could think of. One mule launched a powerful kick at me that I barely avoided. Enough. The lead got tied back, and I collapsed under the hill. If the mules found it time to break, then I would not argue. I laid in the soft hollyhock and gazed at the blue sky through the trees. The sky was rarely so blue up north, yet every day that I woke up here the sky seemed bluer than the last. I resisted the urge to shut my eyes, knowing that Higg and at least three men with saws waited for me at the newest corner of the burh wall. 

Then I felt the bushes around me quiver, like something was coming toward me. I jumped to my feet to avoid a beating by Higg or Uhtred, or who ever had discovered my laziness. Looking down the road I saw nothing. Then I heard a very small voice from behind me.

“Aud?”

I turned to see a woman half hidden by ratty, red hair and disguised almost entirely by rags. I’d only met one other person with hair so red. 

“Fulla!” I ran to the slight girl and pulled her into me, “What are you doing here?” 

“I saw you and thought I was dreaming, then I recognized your cursing,” she said breathlessly against my shoulder. I choked out a laugh. 

“Where are the others?” I asked.

Fulla pulled back, she said, “Most are dead. I pray that some still live and have scattered.” 

“No!” I cried; my voice weak.

She nodded, and her red rimmed eyes showed she had already spilt all her tears.

I had seen men gutted before and I imagined this was a similar feeling. Most were strung up and twitching when the knife went into their belly, and I remember the way the men’s entrails would coil and slide out of their bodies onto the ground. I looked down to see if my organs laid in the dirt, but with some disappointment I realized they did not. With a cough, I looked back at Fulla. I could not bring myself to ask how they died. 

“When did it happen?”

“A month or more,” She said, her voice giving away her exhaustion. 

I finally let go of her and walked over to the cart. I pulled out what little food I had, and brought it back to her. She was at least two stone lighter than when I had last seen her in Northumbria, and when she stepped onto the road to grab the food- she winced. 

“Are you hurt?”

She waved my concerns away with a hand and began to eat. 

“You must rest for a while, if your leg is not broken it may heal with some rest.” 

“Am I to walk into the village and ask for a bed?” She asked with some annoyance. 

“No, the risk is too great. They would not hesitate to kill you if they knew who you were.”

We stood in silence for a moment, I wondered how things had gone so sideways.

“Stay here for now, but away from the trail. The men are logging more than a mile away, and no one comes through these woods because it is Uthred Ragnarson who holds them. You can rest easy.” I told her, because I could offer her little else. 

She hesitated. _Why did she look as though she was deciding whether to trust me or not?_ Eventually she nodded.

“Do you have any armor?” I asked. 

She raised her rag shirt up to reveal her leather chest plate.

“Always the clever one,” I said, “I will be back tomorrow.”

I leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Getting back to the mules, I snapped the end of the lead at their heels and they took off like nothing had happened.

When I arrived at the palisade, Higg was in a fit. 

“Where in God’s name have you been? Just taking your sweet time with my equipment? I ought to whip you.” He shouted. Higg was as loud as he was harmless; the sort of man who wanted to be more important than he was. 

“The mules are as bad tempered as you today.” I offered by way of explanation. Already loosening the chains that held the logs.

“Oh, I’m sure of it.” He said, his words dripping with sarcasm. 

-

Enough lumber had been spared for a small alehouse, or rather, a shack. Some villager had learned to craft a decent brew and though the garrison men were paid very few pieces of silver for the backbreaking work of building a burh, they spent every piece at the alehouse. They crowded around the shack on summer nights; men packed the benches, sat on stools they brought from home, and on remnants of the logs they worked so hard to cut down. 

A few nights later, I found myself there. Sitting beside Sihtric and listening to the men bullshit each other. I worked on chiseling out the shape of a mug from some lumber I found. The brewer would often trade me beer for anything that would hold liquid. May the Gods protect any man who had to drink out of the splintering things.

“...then she screamed and I ran out of there,” Rypere was saying, his story eliciting a big reaction from the crowd around us.

I got up from the table, sick of loud stories and the sharp scent of dried sweat. I swiped Sihtric’s ale mug as I left and went to the outer edge of the crowd, in sight of the table where Uhtred’s household guard sat. Taking a sip of his ale, I settled myself on the ground against a post, and turned my attention back to my chiseling.

The brewer’s daughter came by to refill my ale a few times and the mug began to take shape. 

“You should smile more; you do your face a disservice.” Rypere said, suddenly standing in front of me. Perhaps a little drunker than before, but so was I. 

“And what do you prefer I smile about?” I asked, my words flooded with menace. 

He took a moment to regroup, “Perhaps the warm weather? The flow of ale? The good company?” He flashed a smile that made me trust him even less. 

I stood up; I had the advantage of height to be eye to eye with most men.

“There is no amount of ale in Coccham that could make this company tolerable.” I said, hoping that he would give me a reason to hit him. 

“Pity you have become a displeasing hag so young,” He said, looking me up and down.

That was all I needed to reach my arms out and lace my hands behind his neck. With a sharp tug I connected his nose with my raised knee and heard a crack.

With blood beginning to drip out of his nose, Rypere reacted by keeping low and using his weight to shove me backwards into the post. Pinned by his elbow, I could do little to stop the hit he delivered to my left eye. He was pulling back for another hit when Uthred’s guard pulled us apart. Sihtric grabbed me by the collar, cursing, and led me away. 

“Lousy sheepfucker!” I yelled back at Rypere, causing Sihtic to strike me in the back of the head. 

-

The next morning, while the sun was still below the horizon, Sihtric pulled me from sleep and put us on a path upriver. My face and ribs pounded with each step, and I thought him very clever for this simple act of torture. 

We stopped where a creek emerged from the forest, before it would join the big river. Sihtric pulled off his shirt and began washing. He gestured for me to do the same. I came up to a spot a few yards away from him, knelt, and plunged my face into the icy water. The throbbing stopped. 

When my breath ran out, I resurfaced, huffing.

“Better?” Sihtric asked.

“Much better,” I nodded, my ears hurt from the cold but my eye felt markedly better.

“You started a fight you could not finish.” He pointed out, somewhat unnecessarily. 

“Rypere should learn to keep his mouth shut and I would not have to start fights.”

“Wthout a doubt,” Sihtric said, barely containing his amusement, “Aud- he meant to gain favor with you, to catch your eye. He told us so. Then moments later you’d broken his nose.”

I began washing. In a sober mind, it certainly seemed like it could have been true. 

I rolled my eyes, “Still his mistake, not mine.”

“You should still be more careful. If Uhtred catches word of your fighting, he may decide you are a hostage not worth the trouble. You understand?”

I sighed, rubbing the dirt off my arms, “I understand, and I did not mean to cause trouble for you. You have been kind.”

He finished washing and stood up, “There seems little point in trying to make you more miserable than you already are.” He paused in his redressing to ask, “Do you truly wish to go back to your father’s army so badly?” 

Sihtric’s father had a reputation for cruelty that rivaled my own father’s, and it was clear he had noticed that I was not enjoying my freedom as I once had. But I could not tell him the news of Borghild and the other shield-maidens. Nor did I wish to describe to him everything else the Gods had taken from me in the last year and how the thought of it made my anger flare up like a wildfire, urging me to destroy everything in my path. I stood and pulled my shirt back on.

“I only wish to fight,” I said instead, “surely you understand that.”

Sihtric nodded, “I do.”

We began the walk back to the village, another long day ahead. It was bad luck that I would not be around to enjoy my hard-won friendship with Sihtric much longer.


	7. Chapter 7

I saw Fulla later in the day; it had become routine to stop the mules near the old charcoal pit and whistle a tune Borghild had taught us. Today she hobbled over, reaching for the bread and last year’s dried meat that I handed her. It was hard enough to break teeth on, but the only thing that would not be missed from the cellars.

She laughed when she saw my face and the deep purple that shaded it, “So you are starting fights again? Who is the poor bastard and what did he do?”

“Tried to talk sweet to me- or so I’m told.”

“And what did he get for his efforts?” 

“A broken nose.”

Fulla rubbed her own nose, “Let that teach him a lesson.”

I nodded, remembering something in my pocket, “Here,” I handed her my carved hair comb, “I want it back.” 

“Blessings, I may begin to look human again.”

“Careful,” I said to her, “At your best you look like a Dane, at your worst- a Scot.”

“These Saxons would not recognize a Scot if they saw one, we are merely the monsters in their stories.” 

Her jab made me smile, remembering how mistaken Alfred had been in guessing my lineage. We sat with our backs against the cart and shared lunch. When I closed my eyes, it felt as if I was back on the road with the army. Back with the proud and ferocious warriors I had grown up with.

“Do you remember how you bit four men and drew blood by the time Borghild got to you and offered to teach you how to properly fight?” I asked. 

Fulla nodded, but narrowed her eyes.

She was taken as a child, in a raid the brothers led in Alba. Borghild paid four pieces of hack silver to the men who had stolen her and changed her fate from slave to warrior. At least half the woman who followed Borghild had a similar story. 

“Why have you not asked about her?” Fulla asked, “Why have you not asked what happened to Bjorn and your sisters?” 

There were no secrets among shield maidens. Her blunt question did not surprise me. 

“I worry that the truth, the whole truth, could cloud my judgement. It’s not as if I’m known for having a rational head.” 

As soon as I said it, a sharp pain in my chest reminded me that there were few left in this world who knew me at all.

“I want to get us out of here and I cannot think of them until that is done.” I said. 

“Then I will carry the truth for the both of us, until we are safely on our way.” She said, then considered me for a moment, “When I found you here, fat and happy, I was not sure you would want to leave.”

I stood, and crossed my arms in front of my chest.

“You assumed I would not avenge my family?” I asked, steel in my voice.

Fulla shrugged, following me to stand but not breaking eye contact. 

“You’ve had months to escape, and you have not.” 

My anger rose, but it stemmed from shame. She was right.

“Trust that I am working to get us all that we need to leave this place.” I told her.

“I will, but I’ll wait no longer than the next new moon.” 

Underneath her words I could hear her resolve. That night on my way to the barn, I guessed there was maybe 5 days until the next new moon.

-

Three days of rain followed. The burh construction was halted and I was back in the kitchen, preparing fish to be smoked. Gisela and I were working to the melody of pattering rain in the comfort of the newly finished hall when Sihtric and another brawny man came through the doors- their bodies soaked and straining to carry a fat, gutted pig. They threw it with great effort onto the long table beside the fish. 

“Lord Uhtred has ordered a pig slaughtered.” Sihtric huffed, “We’re to celebrate the hall raising tonight.”

“I see,” Gisela said, a critical eye on the dripping carcass.

“Aye, as well as the feast of Saint Bartholomew.”

The three of us Pagans turned toward the Irish voice. I had not seen much of the Irishman over the summer, and would not have recognized him if not for his thick Gaelic accent. His long, detestable hair had been shorn close to his head and his slight frame was now strapped with muscles. He was hardly the same grumpy, shadow-eyed man who lost me a purse of silver and stole my knife last spring. 

“Who?” I stifled a laugh; these Christians and their many hundreds of saints. 

Finan opened his mouth to respond but Gisela cut us off.

“Aud, would you fetch clean knives?” She asked, putting a hand on my arm and turning me to the kitchen. 

I nodded, struggling to keep a grin off my face. There was much about this feast that would aid in my escape- not only would all of the guard be drunk and the food readily available to steal, but with any luck their hangovers would last into the next morning and give a few more hours head start. I quietly thanked the Gods that I would not need to harm Sihtric to escape. When I returned to Gisela, the men had gone. 

My mind spun as I worked the knife around the fat of the pig’s legs. I would leave my war axes; even in the revelry, the armory would be guarded. For the sake of Fulla’s injured leg, my intention had been to follow the logging road through the forest till it ended. With the rain it would be nothing more than a quagmire now, and impossible to follow. We could steal a boat; but one small enough to be crewed by only two would be easily overtaken by any bigger ship. I did not want to leave my freedom to chance.

In my hand lay one of the pig’s feet, teeming with fat to be rendered and bones to be boiled. Without hesitation I cut off one of the toes and pocketed it.

“Go see if anyone will trade this for more charcoal.”

Gisela’s voice made me jump and the knife almost slipped into my thumb. I looked up into her wide, iridescent eyes. They held no indication that she knew of my plans. She handed me the pig’s heart in a bowl covered in cloth, and gave the impression of being massively preoccupied with the preparations of a last-minute feast. 

“Of course, Lady,” I nodded and took my leave of her.

On the way out the door I let my fingers drift to the three small bones of the pig’s toe in my pocket. We would escape by forest, but with any luck we would not attempt it alone.


	8. Chapter 8

The rain had stopped, replaced by a breeze that rattled the branches and undergrowth as I stood on the edge of the trees. The forest, shrouded in what was left of the old moon, slowly revealed itself as my eyes shook off the lantern glow. My ears too, had to shake the clamor of the feast before I began to hear the movements of night creatures through the wood. It made my steps seem so loud as the climb through thickets and mud began. My sleeping furs hung heavy off my back, rolled tight with my armor and food. In my left hand was a broken axe head I had nicked from the blacksmith’s bench. My right hand clutched the clean and dry pig bones, hastily etched with Dawn runes.

-

Even I had been permitted to celebrate the hall raising earlier that night. The ale flowed fast into men’s bellies and because one villager had a fine drum, another a lute, we enjoyed music. Uthred killed a red stag which, to Gisela’s further distress, was cooked for everyone and its skull placed over the door of the hall to ward off curious spirits. Truth be told, the celebration had rivaled any I had seen up North. 

Sihtric was at home among the garrison men as they fiercely tried to out-drink one another. Hild warmed up a little; still weary of me but willing to put it to rest for a night. With an untold number of ales in him, Finan was everyone’s friend, throwing dice with whoever would sit down next to him. I smiled, laughed, lifted my ale to my lips often, but drank it rarely. The festivities and the lanterns were burning low by the I had to put an arm under Sihtric’s shoulders and help him back to the barn to sleep. He was asleep when his head hit the straw, the snoring dark lumps of the other men confirmed it was safe to grab my belongings, slide out the door, and follow the shadows to the last unfinished corner of the burh wall. 

-

It took the better part of an hour to reach the charcoal pit. Without the road, the trek had been slick, clumsy, and impeded by waist high shrubs. Approaching Fulla’s campsite I made sure to whistle Borghild’s tune, so she would not mistake me and throw a knife into my eye as I knew she could do from 20 paces. She whistled back. 

Her fire was already extinguished and she was packing her things. I knelt to the ashes of her campfire and dropped the pig bones in. Like the dawn, fire was known among Northmen to be a catalyst for knowledge and clarity. I rubbed the ash into the bones and murmured prayers in the old language that any spirits here may guide us to safety. Fulla saw this and embraced her hands over mine, offering her own prayers. Getting to my feet, I threw the bones into a wide arc, scattering them. 

Truthfully, I felt nothing, no pull of any kind, in the silence that followed. I pushed down the cold fear that the gods had well and truly abandoned me, instead focusing on building warmth in my heart. 

A few minutes later Fulla tapped my leg and stood, “This way.”

I followed her careful footsteps as she led us down into a ravine and up the other side. Here the trees were denser and the bushes not so over grown, we made good progress.

But the arm that grabbed me was massive, and quick. It grabbed me about the waist and lifted me clean off the ground before I could even see my attacker’s face.

“Fulla!” I cried, though nothing but a strangled screech came out as the arm tightened around me. As I struggled against its iron hold, something flashed by me in the darkness and took Fulla by the neck, dragging her back. 

“Fulla!” 

A hand came over my nose and mouth. The first thing I could think of was bit down as hard as possible. It worked.

“Son of a whore! She bit me.” said a deep voice in thick Danish. 

I tried sharp kicks to dislodge myself but the brute kept pulling me off the ground and I could get no purchase without my legs under me. The cold steel of a hunting knife at my throat finally halted my efforts. 

“Let us go! We have nothing of value!” I shouted, twisting around till I could lay eyes Fulla. I had nothing except my Mjölnir pendant and the beads left in my hair, hardly enough to bargain for a life.

“Nothing of value the lass says. Did you hear that Clapa?” 

My stomach dropped to my knees and I went weak. It was Finan’s voice and his laugh and his sword was at Fulla’s throat. She held her leg awkwardly, not moving.

“Just let us go, Uthred knows he got a useless hostage.” I spat at him.

“Useless?” His expression unreadable in the dark, but his head tilted toward Fulla, “You’ve done exactly as Uhtred wished; you were the bait that brought in the catch.”

I felt rage rise up my spine like fire, she would never forgive me for this. 

“Leave her!” I screamed at him, even as he turned and led her south, toward Coccham. 

My voice ragged, I continued, “Let her go! She is not your hostage and she does not have to be your problem.” 

“I cannae do that,” he called, almost sang, over his shoulder. I wondered briefly if Finan was still drunk.

Clapa shoved me forward, one hand on my shoulder the other easily arresting my hands behind me. It was a difficult and agonizing walk back. Never before had I valued Clapa’s sheer size- the man had to have giant’s blood running through him. Even if I somehow won against him; up ahead Fulla grunted in pain with every step and I thought maybe we were doomed from the start. Perhaps it was all just sport for the gods’ entertainment. 

-

At the hall, morning light had only just begun to peak under the doorway and the faces within were still lit by firelight. Uhtred was confronting Sihtric. With the full arc of his arm he slapped Sihtric, so hard the noise rang off the walls of the hall and the warrior clutched his jaw. I flinched. Uhtred paced, his hands laced together and resting on the top of his head as his boots shuffled across the floor. Sihtric was still as a statue, head hung low.

“What is your name girl?” Uhtred asked in Danish, approaching Fulla.

She said nothing. Finan shifted impatiently behind her; neither him nor Clapa were stupid enough to loosen their grips on us. Like trapped animals there was no predicting what we would do.

“Where are the brothers?” He asked instead.

Still nothing. I had forgotten this about her. 

“Why are you in Wessex?”

She held steady his gaze, but Fulla’s mouth did not move from the grim line she set it in. 

“She doesn’t speak to men,” I finally said, “not if she can help it.”

Uhtred heaved a big sigh and continued his pacing, “Tell me- is this a game to you both?” 

“No Lord, but it seems you would prefer not to beat women or you would have already started,” I told him. My voice betrayed a confidence I did not feel.

“Do not make the mistake of overestimating my honor," he said in a low, warning voice. 

"We will not test it- Fulla will tell you everything she knows to be true. In exchange you will grant her safe passage out of Wessex and a horse to take her north. Far away from you or the brothers.” 

Uhtred looked at Fulla for a moment then turned his eyes back to me, “And you?”

“I remain here as a hostage, servant, or slave- it hardly matters.”

“You swear to this?” he asked Fulla.

“She does,” I said, before I nodded to Fulla, “Speak, and you will go home.” 

My voice broke on the last word. It was becoming clear that I would not see the beautiful, wild North ever again. But Fulla still could; she could go back to her people, hear their songs, plant their seeds, have a good life. She just needed a horse to get her there. 

She gave me a long hard look, a battle raging behind her eyes. 

“I am sorry Aud. I’m sorry you’ll hear the truth like this.”

Then she turned to Uhtred, “We were camped outside Norvic in East Anglia…”


End file.
